The Speakeasy
by pumpkinpatch212
Summary: Four years after the war, life is going the exact opposite of what Hermione Granger expected. She quit her internship and is now attending a muggle university and working in a cliché muggle bar to help herself get by. However, when she catches the eye of a former Death Eater, she is left wondering if her life really has derailed or if she's doing exactly what she was meant to do.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: I kid you not, Thormione is not even my favorite ship but damn it all if I didn't come up with this plunny. So I guess now I officially ship them. Lol. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy. I am particularly proud of this first chapter, and intend to update when I can. Please review because it seriously gives me so much motivation. Thank you guys!_

 _Warnings: No warnings for the first chapter, but smut will definitely be happening in later chapters;)_

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The Speakeasy was the brainchild of an American businessman who, like all Americans, believed the rest of the world must indulge in their culture. In an off street in London, he opened "The Speakeasy", a bar strictly unlike the British pubs surrounding it.

The Speakeasy was not a place of socialization and the soft nursing of an ale or beer, but rather an audacious display of American drinking culture. The owner, a Mr. Eli Jacobs, described it as being a place of being "go big or go home". The bar was a place of drinking to forget and drinking with the intent of becoming utterly shitfaced in a short amount of time. Of course, this culture only existed during the evenings, when the youth of London began to seek a thrill utterly foreign to them in the early hours of the night.

During the days, the bar was quiet. The light haze of cigarette was always present in the air, and had become the bar's signature scent. The occasional wanderer would find their way into the bar, and casually sip on their American beer. Aside from this, the bar was relatively quiet during the afternoons. This state of peace left Hermione Granger, a bartender, ample opportunity to study her university textbooks when not being asked to give the few barflies refills.

Hermione was an oddity to her coworkers, who questioned why such a bright woman would choose to work in a bar to help pay for school, when she was the type of girl who should have an internship or a research project. Of course, they never asked this to her face, as they had immediately determined that Hermione was very private about herself and her personal life. The only information they had managed to dig up from her was that she studying to become an educator to young children.

Of course, if they did discover the truth about her, they would never believe the circumstances that led to her becoming a bartender in a cheesy, second rate American bar. Even her own friends didn't believe how her life had turned out.

Four years prior, the war had come to an end. The Golden Trio had gone on their ways and pursued what was expected of them. Harry had begun training to become an auror, despite Hermione chastising him and asking him to at least give himself time to recover from the trauma from a war. Of course, this led her to become a hypocrite as she did just the same as Harry and buried herself in becoming a Medi-Witch through intensive training. Ron had chosen what Hermione later realized to be the heathiest life choice out the trio, which was helping George run the joke shop.

Her budding romantic relationship with Ron fizzled out in the weeks after the war, as the pair realized they likely kill each other if they continued down the path they were heading. That wasn't to say they didn't love each other immensely, but rather the love they had was to bright and burning to be contained in a relationship. Hermione knew she could never love Ron as a brother, but also knew she could never love him as a lover either. And so they parted ways and left their relationship the way it was meant to be, with both of them being the fiercest of friends.

Hermione had chosen to live with Harry in Grimmauld place, despite the awful coldness the building kept buried deep within its walls. In the beginning, she had tried to bring an air of lightness to the building, though her efforts remained fruitless, so after a while she stopped trying. The house was unwelcoming, and Hermione hated every moment she spent in it alone, as Harry normally arrived back from his own training at odd hours of the night.

Upon reflection, Hermione wasn't sure what made her want to become a Medi-Witch. Perhaps it stemmed from the stereotypical aspiration of muggle parents who wished their children to be physicians. Maybe it came from the fact that despite her desire to end corruption within the Ministry, she had no desire to return to a place that played background for various nightmares. However, a tiny sliver of her soul knew the truth which was simply that she wished to do something that reminded her of her parents.

Her training continued for a while: three years in fact. She was almost to the point where she would officially be certified when one day she was helping to heal a potioneer of his burns that were the result of a potion explosion when she simply walked out of St. Mungos, the sudden, cold realization hitting her that she was not happy and would never be happy being a Medi-Witch.

Her friends had worried after her mental wellbeing, though she assured them that she was fine. Begrudgingly, they believed her but continued to ask after her frequently after her apparent break. Harry in particular stressed and fussed about her when he was home, despite being exhausted from his days of training. During this stretch of time, Hermione resolved that it wasn't fair of him to devote his time to worrying over her like a mother hen, and used some of the savings her parents had left her before she had cast the memory charm to rent a flat. She also forged Muggle transcripts and decided to do what she was best at: education.

School was comforting. Familiar. Despite attending a muggle university, the emotions surrounding it were the same as the ones she had felt at Hogwarts. Her classes were obviously an adjustment, as she had not attended a muggle institution in years, However, it wasn't long until she found her rhythm and was making top marks in her classes. Of course, she was a few years older than her first-year classmates, which likely helped her performance as well.

She wasn't even supposed to be working today. Wednesdays were days she typically devoted wholly to her studies in the afternoons, yet her coworker Lisa had called her with a raspy voice and practically begged Hermione to work. Of course, Hermione would have agreed even without the begging, however Lisa had a flare for the dramatics and tended to overact with every performance, whether that be serving beer or cleaning glasses.

Hermione continued to scan her textbooks, unconsciously nibbling the end of her pen in her mouth. Her thoughts were absorbed in the psychology that was associated with the education of grade school children. Thus, she missed the newest patron enter the bar. He took his seat at the counter, the same seat he took every Wednesday. When he noticed that he was essentially being ignored by the bartender, he exhaled loudly and began to obnoxiously tap his fingers against the counter.

"Sweetheart," He called out, forcefully pulling Hermione from her studies, causing her to jump in surprise.

"Sorry," She offered in return, embarrassed by her lack of awareness. "I was just-"

Her voice stopped cold as she met the hulking figure of none other than Thorfinn Rowle. He was equally as surprised, as his striking blue eyes grew wide. A sudden rush of red ran to her cheeks, and her eyes darted around the room.

"Granger? What the fuck are you doing being a bartender," He boomed, any form of subtly being nonexistent. Any nervousness she had possessed drained out of her and was replaced with red hot irritation. How dare he invade her private place. How dare he sit his arrogant arse in one of the stools and ask her what she was doing. She had yet to allow even her friends know the privilege of the exact establishment she worked, and yet here a brutish buffoon sat, ruining her sanctuary.

"Me? Shouldn't you still be under house arrest for oh, I don't know, being a Death Eater," She shot back, trying to keep her composure in tact and failing miserably.

He gave her a mischevious look and held up his right wrist revealing a pewter bracelet. Hermione recognized it from an article she had read in the Daily Prophet a few months prior that described a new Ministry tool that essentially worked as device to keep rehabilitated war criminals on a tight leash. "Got off on good behavior. Now I can travel between Rowle Rock and London."

"Good behavior," She scoffed. Though Rowle didn't particularly scare her, she wasn't all to keen on seeing him sitting across from her in the place she worked. However, the side of her with a justice fetish argued that despite his misgivings, he had served a sentence and deserved to be out in the world like anyone else.

"Why don't you get me a glass of whiskey, Granger," Rowle said, obviously enjoying the roles they were in. Hermione fumed.

"Why don't I throw you out, hm Rowle?"

Rowle smirked. "I'm sure Eli wouldn't approve of you throwing out one of his regulars, now would he?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she held a gob smacked expression. "You know Mr. Jacobs? The owner?"

Rowle nodded, his eyes holding an amusment, as though he were playing a poker game and held all the right cards. "I'm here almost every Wednesday and Saturday. Hell, even some Fridays."

She narrowed her eyes at his words. "I've never seen you here. I work every Saturday."

"Hm, I guessed I never noticed you," Rowle mused, picking dirt from under his fingernail. Hermione exhaled deeply from her nostrils, somewhere between being halfway insulted by his comment and not giving a damn about what Thorfinn Rowle noticed about her. "By the way, Sweetheart, could you grab me a glass of whiskey?"

Wordlessly, Hermione grabbed a glass and placed it in front of him. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured him a glass, internally seething at the situation. Rowle winked at her, and took a sip of the alcohol.

While he was busy, Hermione grabbed her textbook and shoved it into the bag she kept under the counter. He peered over his glass. "What's that Granger?"

"None of your concern," She replied smartly, turning to face him. Despite the dim lights of the bar, his long, blond hair glistened and glittered. It made her sick. She gave him a hard stare, as if asking him to challenge her.

"What's with the attitude Granger," He asked, taking a sipping of his drink. "Its not like I've killed someone."

"Congratulations. Would you like a gold star?" She questioned. Thorfinn smirked into his glass and nodded his head.

"Nice. What was it they called you in the Prophet? Brightest Witch?"

Despite hating the title once it had been bestowed to her by the awful writers of the Prophet, she preened under the apparent insult he threw.

"Better than being known as a brutish git who got hit by a memory charm by a little girl."

"Damn Granger, that was a bit below the belt," He replied, shaking his head. He took a final sip of his whiskey until the glass was empty, and pulled some money from his pocket to leave on the counter.

"You've wounded me Granger. I supposed I'll have to endure your verbal besting Saturday when I see you," He said, winking at her. Hermione looked at him with a displeased expression on her face, and the feeling of a rock in her stomach. He only laughed at her, and left the bar.

The rest of her shift passed slowly, and Hermione couldn't help but revisit the conversation she had with Rowle. She hated the way she had silently enjoyed the verbal battle she held with him. However, she also hated his little quips, and they way they had managed to get under her skin. If she saw him again Saturday it would be much too soon, and she was silently praying Lisa would be well by Saturday so that perhaps she could miss work if only just to avoid him.

Hermione left work and walked down the London streets to make her way to Grimmauld Place. Despite no longer living there, Hermione always had dinner with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and George every Wednesday as it was the only day that fit into their schedule for them to all meet. Of course, they didn't cook dinner, but instead would rotate turns on who would order take-out from some of the various restaurants in the Wizarding World. Fortunately, it wasn't Hermione's turn, as she would have totally forgotten.

She entered Grimmauld Place and was immediately engulfed in hug from a semi-sweaty Ginny. Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Just get finished with practice?"

"Of course not," Ginny laughed. "This is my natural scent."

"Funny you weren't born a boy since you smell like one," Ron jested, coming up behind Ginny to greet Hermione. Ginny scrunched her nose up at her brother, and turned on her heel towards the kitchen, but not before she gave him a hard thwack on the arm.

"Ow," Ron exclaimed, rubbing his wounded arm. Hermione gave him a pitying smile.

"How was work?" She asked, walking with him towards the kitchen.

"A little slow, but that's to be expected in January since school just started back and all. George and I have been working on a new product though, so that's exciting."

"Oh really? What kind?"

"It's part of the WonderWitch collection," George replied, popping up behind Hermione and Ron. Hermione jumped and gripped at her heart. Ron jumped as well, though he still laughed at Hermione's reaction.

"Damnit George," Hermione squeaked, though the adrenaline and utter terror she had felt was worth it to see the expression on George's face. He wore a grin, and the lines around his eyes had crinkled into something that mimicked happiness. In the past few weeks, he had become more like his old self than they had witnessed before the war.

"Sorry Mione," He laughed. He reached into his pocket and revealed a small purple vial. He handed it to Hermione, who grasped the vial and opened it cautiously. She took a sniff, however was unable to find any sort of odor.

"What is it?"

"We haven't really come up for a name yet. You're supposed to drink it and be able to tell who finds you attractive with colors," Ron said, glancing over at George for affirmation.

"Yeah but I wouldn't be drinking it yet, Love," George said, plucking the bottle from Hermione's hands. "It's still in the works. I took some the other day and could only tell which dogs found me irresistible."

Hermione giggled and could only conjure the image of George being followed by a horde of dogs who all had heart eyes for him.

"Woof," Ginny barked from the kitchen. George laughed and shook his head.

"You'll pay for that Gin," He yelled, running into the kitchen. Ron and Hermione followed him and was met with the sight of Ginny and George locked into a wrestling match with Harry looking at the pair of siblings with amusement in his eyes.

"My money's on Ginny," He stated, bolstering his girlfriend's confidence. Ginny laughed and proceeded to put the many hours of quidditch training to use. In almost no time at all, George was pinned down to the kitchen table.

"Uncle," George cried, ready to escape the embarrassment that was losing to his younger sister in a wrestling match. Ginny laughed in the sadistic way only a sibling could at her brother's discomfort. She finally released him and was given a victory kiss by Harry.

"Damn Harry I don't know how you put up with this one," George said, pointing at Ginny. Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother and Harry only winked in response. Ron's face grew green at what Harry seemed to imply.

"Nope, we're drawing a line there. Who's hungry?"

The motley crew grabbed the take-out that George had picked up from the Leaky Cauldron, and began to eat. When everyone was absorbed in their meals, Hermione looked around the room at each of her friends and felt a pang in her chest at the scene before her.

Sometimes, she wished it were like this every day. In this moment, they were simply a group of twenty-somethings who all appeared lost in the path of life. These were the days Hermione craved. Because when they all gathered together, she didn't feel like such a failure. It was rich, coming from her: the girl who exceeded expectations and held so much ambition and promise. Yet, she knew when she left this gathering of friends she would become someone who had no clue what was going on her life.

It terrified her. She knew if she were to look at Boggart now, it would have evolved from childish fear she had of making less than excellent marks. No, her boggart now would be herself drifting in a boat with no clue where she would make land.

Every person at the table before her had some sort of direction. Ginny was playing professional quidditch. Harry was an auror for the Ministry. He had been in a relationship with Ginny for a while, and though Hermione knew that Harry would allow Ginny and himself the time to get adjusted in their careers before he proposed, there was still a plan set in place for their future.

Ron and George owned the joke shop and were successful entrepreneurs. They had even been talking of expanding to hold another store somewhere else in Britain.

Yet, here Hermione sat: a university student with pieces of a dream and a bartender in the evenings. In her eyes, she felt like her life was going nowhere.

That was why she loved Wednesday nights so much because the gang was all gathered together and put at a standstill. It was almost as though their successful lives were put on pause, along with their careers, just for one night a week, giving Hermione a chance to breathe.

"You'll never guess who I saw today while I was at work," She said once everyone looked as though they had finished eating.

"Who?" Ron said, still munching on some chips.

"Thorfinn Rowle."

"The big Viking? I thought he was still on house arrest," George said, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

"No, he's been allowed to leave his manor and travel London, though he has to be kept tracked," Harry supplied, knowledgeable on all former Death Eaters.

"He said something about good behavior," Hermione said. Ron scrunched his nose.

"Good behavior my arse," He muttered.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "The Ministry's trying to rehabilitate former Death Eaters who, quite frankly, were shit at being Death Eaters. There's some concern that the wizarding population had been on a sharp decrease since the war so they're hoping that putting them back into society might help those numbers."

Ginny gave a look of disgust. "Well I guess if big, brutish, and stupid is your type. Kind of odd he was at a muggle bar though."

Hermione snorted, nodding with Ginny's words. She pitied the witch who determined Rowle was the man of her dreams.

"I'm not really surprised. Most rehabilitated Death Eaters tend to stay away from Diagon Alley." Harry offered.

"Well what did he say? Did he bother you?" George asked, brotherly concern swimming in his eyes. Hermione smiled at his expression.

"Not really, besides him being an irritating git. But I think that's his personality."

The rest of the group laughed.

"Speaking of work Hermione, when are you going to let us come visit you?" Ginny pried, curious. Ever since Hermione had gotten a job the muggle bar, Ginny had pestered her about letting her visit and experience the muggle night life.

"Let me see," Hermione thought out loud, grabbing a glass of water. "Today's Wednesday, so never."

Ginny scowled, and pursued her lips. "One-day Granger. And you know what, we will make a girl's night out of it."

Hermione smiled, though internally she was nervous. Nervous that one-day Ginny would visit the bar, and realize just how low on the totem pole Hermione had sunk her life. "Maybe one-day."

The rest of the night was spent with in the same manner, with various topics of jest coming up. If everyone in the group didn't have work or other obligations the next day, it was very likely each of them would have left in a happy drunk disarray that could only be found when it the company of friends. Hermione could have even fixed the drinks with her acquired skills. Yet, they each had some form of obligation, and the night was ended too soon and too sober for Hermione's taste.

When she left Grimmauld and made it back to her flat, she removed her jumper and greeted her favorite bottle of wine like an old friend. She needed something to get her through the rest of her textbook and the night without crashing. After all, sleep was for the weak and if she had to sacrifice a few hours of study time to spend with her friends, it was all worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN: Thank you guys so much for the amazing reviews! I'm so happy you guys love Hermione having no clue about what she wants out of life or the direction she wants to take. I feel like it adds an element of realism to her character since not everyone knows exactly what they want when they leave school. Life isn't an easy path down a straight road.**_

 _ **Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Please review since it helps feed the muse! Please send constructive criticism too, and tell me how I can improve myself as a writer!**_

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Hermione awoke that Friday morning staring into the orange eyes of Crookshanks with the half-kneazle meowing loudly in her face, the smell of cat breath filling her senses. Her alarm was blaring, yet she had somehow managed to sleep through it. She glanced over at the clock, and immediately the feeling of dread washed over her.

"Shit," She hissed, sitting up abruptly. Crookshanks screeched in response and was flung to the floor from her movement. She jumped from the bed and began to rush around the room in order to gather everything she needed for the day.

"Sorry Crooks," She called back to her cat. The half-kneazle blinked in response. In a blur, she pulled on her jumper and grabbed her knapsack. She grabbed her keys and ran out her flat.

She ran down the street trying desperately to reach the university in time. The night before, she had spent hours trying to finish a paper that had somehow managed to sneak up on her. It was ridiculous, and she was ashamed of herself. She was Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger didn't let papers sneak up on her.

She was halfway to the university when she was struck with the realization that she was, in fact, a witch. A witch who could apparate to the university and arrive a few minutes earlier than she need be. She reached into her pocket, and felt around for her wand, but it was nowhere to be found.

"Damnit," She hissed, continuing her panicked run down the street. She felt utterly naked without her wand, as though a part of herself was missing. Despite dwelling more among the muggles the past year, she always carried her wand with her. It had become her safety blanket.

Hermione finally made it to class with less than a minute to spare, and was able to turn her paper in on time. She was thankful that she had transfigured it to look as though she had typed and printed the essay instead of jotting it down in a fatigued haze on notebook paper. She'd tried to type her essays on countless occasions, but found she didn't enjoy the practice. There was just something special about jotting something down with a pen.

Her classes passed in a blur of discussions and debate on ethics involved with teaching in one of her education classes and the lecture of solving thermochemistry problems in her chemistry class. It was topics that her core classes covered that she had missed whilst attending Hogwarts. Science was ever present and nonexistent in the Magical world. Most wizards would dismiss magic as having nothing to do with science, and thus rejected the idea of the concept.

Yet, Hermione had a hunch that the appearance of magic and magical properties had everything to do with science. Though not sure what she would do with the knowledge if she ever did make the connections, she still studied rigorously for her science classes simply because she enjoyed the, well, science of it all. There were rules. There was order, for the most part.

Finally, she was finished with her classes and could make the walk back to her flat, and fall into the swallowing pit that was studying and papers. She walked briskly down the London street, the January air nipping at the areas left exposed like her cheeks. The sun had begun to make its leave, and the night life was just beginning to take place.

Hermione observed various characters that made up the youth of London. Many of the young women, despite the unrelenting cold, still wore outfits that gave no protection against mother nature. Hermione shook her head in disbelief, unsure how anyone could stand to be so exposed in such weather. Of course, if she were in their place, she would have likely cast a heating charm, but that was beside the point.

So lost in her thoughts, the rough hand that grabbed her arm caught her completely by surprise. She turned to face the person, only to find a stranger's eyes staring back into her own. The man was large, and had a cruel smile mixed with yellowed, crooked teeth.

"Hello, girlie," The man sneered. Hermione felt her stomach flop. She reached into her pocket for her wand, only to be met with the sinking realization that she had forgotten it in her rush out the door.

"Stay away from me," She said, pulling away from the man. Yet, his grip was iron tight, and she could feel the spots where bruises would likely form. He put his hand on his mouth, rendering her incapable of speaking any more than a series of grunts. The hand he had on her arm slinked around her waist and came in contact with her breast, and began to grope her.

Hermione struggled under his grasp but it was to no avail. Her eyes began to dart around, looking for someone or something. Finally, she made eye contact with one of those scantily clad girls.

"Somebody help her!" The girl cried. Immediately, one of the workers in a bakery Hermione passed by everyday on her way to school ran from the bakery in search of the cry of distress. He pulled the man away from Hermione, and shoved him. Her rescuer punched the man straight in the face, and the assailant fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, blood streaming from his face. He pulled himself to his feet, and ran off in the opposite direction.

Hermione stood, frozen. She still felt the awful groping of the man's hand on her breast, and the awful smell of his breath still filled her senses.

"Granger?"

Hermione looked up at her rescuer only to meet the concerned blue eyes of Thorfinn Rowle. His hair had been pulled back into a pony tail, and he wore an apron. His hands and apron were covered in flour.

"Rowle?" She breathed out, trying so hard to focus on something, anything else other than the way she still felt the man's hands on her body. Her arm ached under her jumper, and if it weren't so cold she would have pulled it off to assess the damage.

"Granger are you alright?" He asked slowly, pulling her focus towards him. One of the scantily clad girls, the one who screamed, can bounding towards the pair. She looked at Hermione with concern in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asked, worry swimming in her eyes beneath her fake lashes and glitzy eyeshadow. She placed her hand on Hermione's arm, causing Hermione to jump.

"I'm okay," Hermione whispered, her eyes darting back and forth between the girl and Thorfinn. She opened her mouth once again to speak but no words came through.

"Granger I'm gonna walk you home, okay?" Thorfinn said, removing his apron. The glitzy girl looked at Thorfinn in surprise.

"You know her?"

Thorfinn nodded. "We're old friends, right Granger?"

Hermione looked at Thorfinn curiously, but then nodded. "Yeah. Old friends."

The glitzy girl took the affirmation as legitimate, and nodded. She turned to leave and join the rest of her friends.

"Wait," Hermione called. "Thank you."

The glitzy girl turned and looked at her Hermione with wide eyes. She nodded, and it was then that Hermione was hit with the sudden, unspoken rules held between females. The glitzy girl sent them a slight smile, and walked away.

Hermione, still shaken, looked towards Rowle, who motioned for her to follow, and allowed him to lead her into the bakery. The pleasant, warm smell of freshly baked bread invaded her nose, calming her down ever so slightly. The bakery was small, but inviting. The walls were lined with shelfs of baked goods from bread to cakes and everything in between. Thorfinn left Hermione in the main part of the bakery, and walked to the back to throw down the flour coated apron he had been holding.

"Della I'm taking off early!" He called, though it was muffled due to being in different areas of the store. He emerged from the back, his hair no longer pulled back but hanging wildly on his shoulders. Hermione had so many questions built inside her head.

"Thorfinn Rowle you best not be leaving early to go to that damn pub!" A woman's voice called after him. Thorfinn rolled his eyes, and mouthed the words "let's go".

"Thorfinn Rowle-" The woman called again, this time emerging from the back of the store. She appeared as though she were her mid-fifties, who despite the appearance of silvering hair, still held the same golden sheen as Thorfinn. Flour stuck in random splotches on her face, and she held a rolling pin in her hands. At the sight of Hermione, she dropped the rolling pin and immediately rushed to make herself look presentable.

"Thor, you didn't tell me we had a customer," She exclaimed, chastising the man. Hermione, in utter confusion at the sight before her, simply stared between the two. "Especially not a customer as famous as this one!"

Hermione outwardly gasped, and looked at the small woman with more questions than she could have imagined. Thorfinn, noticing her confusion, motioned towards the small, blond woman.

"Hermione this is my Aunt, Della Rowle. Della, this is-"

"Hermione Granger," Della finished, reaching her flour coated hand out towards Hermione, though not before wiping her hand on the apron once more. Hermione shook Della's hand, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh I know what you're thinking dearie. What's a pureblood doing owning a muggle bakery in the middle of London?" Della said, chatting in a casual manner.

"Just a tad curious," Hermione replied sheepishly. Della laughed at her admission.

"I'm Thorfinn's Aunt. A squib. Got myself kicked off the family tree for it too." Della proclaimed, making Hermione think that it didn't bother her a bit that she had been kicked from the family, and might have even been happy about it.

"Anyway Della, I'm going be leaving early to take Hermione home."

Hermione shook her head. "Rowle I don't think that's necessary. I mean I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience."

Rowle gave her what she assumed her believed to be a dazzling smile. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk home unattended."

"A modern one," Hermione deadpanned. "Either way, you don't much strike me as a gentleman."

Rowle only laughed. Della raised an eyebrow at the pair.

"If you're worried about apparating, Hermione, you're welcome to do it here so no muggles spot you," Della offered.

Hermione's cheeks turned a light shade of crimson. "I forgot my wand at home."

"And managed to find trouble, like she's notorious for," Rowle finished for her. Della nodded.

"Then it's settled! Thor will walk you home."

"But-" Hermione started, trying to save herself from receiving any help from Thorfinn Rowle. Not necessarily because he was a bad person, evident by the way he had saved her earlier, but simply because she didn't like to ask for help. She always felt like when she asked for help, an invisible score system was put into place, and she would feel guilty until the score was even once more.

"No buts," Della said, clicking her tongue. She went behind the counter and grabbed a loaf of bread and wrapped it up. She handed it to Hermione. "Here's some bread, on the house."

Della winked at Hermione. Rowle rolled his eyes at his seemingly eccentric aunt. Hermione shook her head and refused the loaf, but Della would not take no for an answer and practically shoved the loaf into her hands. Rowle made eye contact with Hermione and discretely motioned towards the front door.

Hermione turned towards Della and gave her a soft smile. "It was nice to meet you. And thank you so much for the bread."

"Don't mention it dear! It was wonderful to meet you as well."

Rowle and Hermione made their way from the shop, with Della waving at them until they could no longer be seen. Hermione shivered, as the London air seemed to have dropped even further, and a chilling wind had appeared.

"Cold?" Rowle asked. Hermione looked up at him, and tried to keep her teeth chattering at bay.

"Of course not." She said, though her resolve was slipping. Thorfinn shrugged off the gray outer jacket her wore, and handed it to her. She tried to push it back into his hands, but like Della he refused to take no for an answer until she was forced to put on the jacket. It engulfed her person, but provided so much warmth, and smelled strongly of spice, and the various smells of the bakery.

"Why do you work at a muggle bakery? I mean I understand the family commitment, but besides that I can't see why you would." Hermione finally asked, the questions spilling out before she could stop herself.

"What Sweetheart, you don't think I work there because I love baking bread?" Rowle joked, looking down at Hermione.

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe." Hermione replied, smiling slightly at his words.

Rowle let out a sharp breath of air. "It's easy to work there."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if I were to work in a wizarding establishment, I'd only hear people whispering about the mark I have on my arm. Besides, even if I didn't have that issue, the Ministry makes it pretty hard to find magical employment."

"What, how?" Hermione questioned, her eyebrows furrowed.

Rowle pulled up his sleeve and lifted his wrist to reveal the pewter bracelet he had showed her only two days prior. "Along with being a tracker, it restricts magic. So I can't even do what most jobs require in the wizarding world."

"I didn't know it did that," She breathed out, surprised the Ministry would stoop to such levels. Not only had they put the former Death Eaters on leashes, but cut off their legs as well.

"Yeah, so I can essentially only apparate. I mean I can throw a lumos and most other first year spells but that's it."

"So no other former Death Eaters that have on one of those bracelets can really integrate themselves back into society, under the pretense of them not being able to cause harm with their magic," Hermione reasoned. Rowle let out a humorless laugh.

"They just want to shove us back into the shadows and this," he said, raising his wrist. "Is the easiest way to do that. I mean, if the population wasn't so low I'd probably still be rotting in Azkaban."

Hermione nodded, though she was unable to imagine the huge man beside her spending the rest of his days in Azkaban. He didn't seem the type. Yet, she knew what he was capable of: she'd seen it first-hand during the war. However, she always knew the cruelty she was capable of as well. The difference between her and Thorfinn Rowle was that her side emerged victorious.

"How long do you have to wear it?"

Rowle gave her a side glance. "Not sure. I wasn't really given a timeframe."

Hermione nodded, and the pair walked in silence down the London street. They finally made it to her flat, where Hermione hastily shrugged off the large overcoat when she noticed the way Rowle's cheeks had grown red and that his hands were shoved in his pockets.

"Thank you, Rowle," She said, truly grateful but also embarrassed at the circumstances that led to such an interaction. Rowle smirked, yet Hermione could not find any malice or cruelty in his eyes.

"Anytime Sweetheart. Just try and stay out of trouble. Though knowing you, I feel you'll find that a difficult task."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, and was about to retort with a smartass comment until she noticed the grin threatening to appear on his lips.

"I'll try," She replied, smiling softly. Rowle winked at her, and turned on his heel. Hermione also turned towards the door, but stood there unmoving.

"Hey Rowle, would you want to come inside for a drink?" She blurted, her eyes growing wider with every word she said. Rowle stopped abruptly, and spun on his heel, giving her a curious glance.

"I mean, just to help shake off the cold before you go off doing what ever nefarious and/or explicit plans you have for tonight," She continued, trying to justify her question. Rowle simply thought she was babbling, but was amused. He especially appreciated the way the crimson blush spread across her cheeks.

"I wish I could Sweetheart, but I promised some of the boys a few weeks ago I'd meet them for drinks, and they'd give me hell if I was late," He said, surprised at how disappointed he wouldn't be able to take her up on her offer.

Hermione's face fell, and her cheeks became even more red. "Oh, I mean I understand."

"Trust me Sweetheart, I'd much rather be sharing a drink with you instead of a couple of gits," Rowle said honestly.

"It's okay, I mean I get it."

"You're working tomorrow right?"

Hermione nodded.

"How about I see you there, and you can give me a drink on the house," Rowle suggested, giving her a wink.

"Using me for free drinks, huh?" She asked, raisning an eyebrow.

Rowle shrugged. "You're the one who suggested it."

"Fine," Hermione said, smiling slightly. Rowle grinned.

"See you tomorrow, Granger," He said, and with a "pop" he was gone, leaving Hermione left wondering what exactly she getting herself into.

*page break*

"Damn ya bastard, its good to see you," Hadrian Mulciber exclaimed, slapping Thorfinn on the back as the man in question entered the dodgy pub in Knockturn Alley. The White Wyvern specialized in cheap whiskey and questionable cliental. The light was always dim and held an almost yellow hue, and there was always a feel mischief in the air.

The pub had become a favorite of many of Thorfinn's colleagues who had been released from Azkaban, though Thorfinn failed to see its appeal. The pub still played host to many cantankerous old men who still gripped about the follies of the youthful men who had taken refuge in the pub.

The atmosphere of the White Wyvern was partly the reason Thorfinn had taken to becoming a regular at the Speakeasy. That, along with the fact that he was essentially nameless at the Speakeasy. He had no faults there, and no one knew of the sins of his past.

"Thor," A round of cheers came from a crowded table that was placed in the center of the bar. Thorfinn grinned at the men. Hadrian had wrapped his arm around Thor's shoulder, rather awkwardly considering that Thorfinn was a few inches taller. Hadrian glanced up at Thor, his ice blue eyes holding a Slytherin glint if Thor had ever seen one.

"So the lads and I figure since you were late, the next rounds on you, am I right?" Hadrian said in a mock whisper, glancing over at the lads who sat with smirks on their faces. Thorfinn, shoved Hadrian from his shoulder.

"Piss off ya gits," Thorfinn laughed, turning towards the bar to order the next round. Hadrian followed him, chuckling.

"A round of ale, Sweetheart," Thorfinn said, winking at the barmaid, who blushed in response. He leaned back on the counter and looked into the curious eyes of Hadrian.

"What?" Thorfinn asked. Hadrian said nothing but instead leaned forward to sniff him. Thorfinn raised an eyebrow. Hadrian smirked in response.

"You already had a good shag today, have you Thor?"

Thorfinn didn't answer but instead leaned down to smell the gray jacket he wore, and was hit with the soft scent of a familiar perfume. It was fruity and floral, though not overpowering. Spirited. Hermione Granger's perfume.

Thorfinn looked back at Hadrian, his mouth contorted into a smirk and nodded his head. Mulciber grinned and slapped Thorfinn on the arm.

"Naughty Bastard," He laughed. Thorfinn rolled his eyes and said nothing as the barmaid returned with plate holding the drinks. He sent her another wink and paid for the drinks before grabbing them and taking them back to the table.

Hadrian followed him grinning, and happily took a drink from the tray. Thorfinn placed the tray on the table occupied by a gaggle of colorful characters, where the drinks were hastily taken.

"Long time no see, Rowle," Rabastan Lestrange said, greeting the larger man.

"Bas," Thorfinn said in acknowledgement. He grabbed his own pint of ale and took a swig, noting that it tasted like utter piss. He'd grown use to the burn of whiskey and vodka that almost certainly guaranteed a quick, drunken haze, making the effect of the ale almost nonexistent. "I've been busy."

Rabastan raised an eyebrow. "Busy?"

"Odd jobs," Thorfinn stated, offering no more to the prying Lestrange. Rabastan gave him a peculiar look, but said nothing as he took a swig of his ale.

"Mulciber says you've been shagging," Drake Travers mentioned, looking at Thorfinn with grin. He was one of the youngest at the table besides Thorfinn. While Travers did hold the Dark Mark, he had been absolute shit at most battle spells, making most wonder where his father's cursing ability had disappeared to.

"And? Not like I have to tell all you shites the dirty details." Thorfinn said, wishing in that moment he had been able to take Granger up on her offer.

"We're your friends," Rabastan said, trying to pick Thorfinn a touch further. The men around Thorfinn were curious. In most cases when he found a witch he'd found to fuck, he'd offer them details upon first arrival. Yet now he remained quiet, and utterly irritated.

"Come now you bunch o' bastards, let's leave Thor alone." Mulciber said in defense, giving Thorfinn an odd look. "How's the appeal to the Ministry coming?"

Thorfinn let out a humorless laugh. "Shitty."

"No surprise there," Rabastan muttered, his face contorted into that of displeasure.

"I wouldn't have appealed if I were you. I wish I could get out of it," Drake offered, his shoulders hunched.

"It's just ridiculous the Rowle seat is being given to the second son," Hadrian said. Thorfinn rolled his eyes and took another swig of his drink, though it wasn't nearly strong enough for the bad taste that had been left in his mouth.

"Honestly, I don't even want the fucking seat." Thorfinn huffed. "But Kiernan is just a snot-nosed kid who's barely 16."

All old families held seats on the Wizengamot. When Thorfinn was released on parole, his seat that had remained vacant for years after the death of his father, was given to his younger brother, Kiernan. However, the seats of the families who did not possess other heirs were given back to those on parole, such as Rabastan. Initially, the seat was to be held by Rodolphus. However, he did not qualify for parole, and so the seat was given to Rabastan as there was no one else to claim it. The Rowle family did have another heir to claim it, and so the seat was given to Kiernan.

"It's breaking bloody tradition is what it's doing," Hadrian muttered. He had begrudgingly been given a seat, as there were simply no other heirs.

Holding a seat in the Wizengamot was prestigious, and gave a family a sense of respectability. Thorfiin didn't really give a shit about respectability and prestige. But Kiernan was soft, and had been so much younger than Thorfinn that their father had not been able to teach him the etiquette and procedure. Thorfinn simply didn't want his brother thrown to the wolves as soon as he graduated from Hogwarts.

The night passed quickly, with all but Thorfinn leaving the pub utterly pissed. For a fleeting moment, he worried about all the men getting splinched returning to their homes in an inebriated state, but the feeling passed rather quickly.

He apparated home, and removed his jacket, pausing for a moment and putting it up to his face. He was pleased to note that, despite having grown fainter, the smell of the perfume still remained.


End file.
